


"Tom Hiddleston Has a Cold."

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [55]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bonfire Night, Existing Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Illness, home sick, the human pool noodle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8527906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: It's Bonfire Night in London, but a cold keeps Tom at home. Carmen is persuaded to come over and look after him.





	1. The Nurse

_I like that love is greedy. You want incommensurate things and you want them now. And the now part is important.  
_ Lauren Berlant

* * *

“What are you wearing, darling?”

Carmen was walking down the busy high street near her apartment. Laden as she was with her purse and heavy shopping bags, she managed to juggle it all so she could talk into the phone she held up to her ear with her left hand. She smiled, then carefully adjusted her grip on the bags so their handles didn’t cut quite so deeply into the naked flesh of her palm.

“Um, a raincoat?” She peeked down at herself to check. “Yep, a raincoat.”

“Just a raincoat?” Tom sounded pleased. “Naked underneath?”

She laughed. “No, you wing nut. Sweater, tee shirt, jeans, scarf, bra, knickers, socks, wellies. Standard foul weather gear, only I forgot my gloves. Not especially flattering, but it’s what I’m wearing to fireworks tonight. You still wanna go?”

Tom coughed. “Of course… ugh!” He coughed again.

“Is that a cold I hear? Should we cancel?” Carmen tried not to sound too disappointed.

“No, Button. Must have caught just a little something on the way back from Australia. Nothing to worry about. I have it all planned. Fireworks! Bonfires! Outdoor sex in a pile of leaves!”

“Was that something Guy Fawkes indulged in, too?” Carmen drawled.

“If he didn’t, then I feel very bad for him indeed.” Tom’s laughter came out instead as a few more pathetic coughs.

Carmen frowned. “Tom, I don’t think you should go out tonight.”

“Stuff and nonsense, Carmen.”

“Since when do you say stuff and nonsense?”

“Since… since…” Tom sneezed.

“That’s a cold, sir,” said Carmen.

“I do not have a cold, I am just tired.”

“But Tom…” Carmen was cut off by Tom sneezing again. “See?!”

“I am not sick!”

“Nice try, Tom,” said Carmen. “No fireworks. You stay home and get well.”

“All by my lonesome?”

“Nice one, Hank. Not when you sound so pathetic, no. So I’ll come over.”

“Hurrah!”

“But only to drop off, like, soup, orange juice. Cold medicine. You need rest, not someone to entertain or bother you.”

“Oh, but Carmen.” Tom sounded plaintive, which she found touching. “You’ll bring me soup? Promise?”

“Yes, dear,” she said patiently.

“And you’ll stay to look after me?”

“Only until you go to sleep.”

“But what if you come here and you find that I am on death’s door? You’ll stay then, right?” Tom asked.

“I’d at least stay as long as it takes to call for an ambulance, love,” said Carmen crisply.

“Ouch!”

“Don’t sound so wounded.” Her voice was soothing. “I’ll be there soon enough.”

“And if I’m not all that poorly, then?” said Tom suggestively.

“Nice try, but no. No fireworks. No bonfire. But like I said, I will put you to bed.” Carmen said innocently.

“Sorry, was that _take_ me to bed?”

“Nice try, but no.” Carmen was firm. “I will put you to bed alone. As in, by yourself.”

“You don’t love me.”

“But that’s just the problem.” Carmen adjusted her grip on her bags, then resumed her walk. “I do love you. I’m just not going to let you make yourself sicker so we can have our little date. Boyfriend-girlfriend shit can wait. It will keep.”

“But…”

“Tom!” Carmen was firm. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” She softened. “You just need some rest. A decent night’s sleep after all that travel.”

“Yes, Nanny,” Tom said with a chuckle.

“You _wish_ I was your nanny,” teased Carmen.

“Don’t give me any ideas about you, dressed in nought but a pinafore, feeding me soup,” growled Tom.

She cackled. “Sporty, I’d like to see _you_ in a pinafore.” When Tom gave a pathetic laugh, sighed. “Poor baby. Sweet Tom. See you soon.”

* * *

Carmen took a moment, then another, as she stood in front of Tom’s gate. It looked to be the same as it did on that day five months ago when she left it. Behind her in the street, cars drove past and peopled walked as they went about their days. Nobody noticing the tentative, almost daring to be hopeful, look on her face.

She meant it when she made that promise to Tom in Australia, on the occasion of their reunion at the end of the summer. She really would be his girlfriend once more. But that week in Queensland was sort of like a honeymoon, an idyll. Standing there, about to walk back into his house, Carmen wondered if this could be her real life.

As she punched the code (which had changed, so Tom had been prompt and careful to tell it to her several times before her first return visit) into the keypad and let herself back in again, it occurred to Carmen that she hadn’t asked him to be her boyfriend in return. Not that it mattered. She didn’t need him to say it. In his actions, he reciprocated.

It always annoyed her when newly formed couples announced themselves to be “boyfriend-girlfriend”, making it sound less like a development in a relationship and more like a game. But what else could she call what they had now?

The first time they were together, it happened so fast. From passionate hate sex in a car as strangers on the very day they met to a serendipitous reunion a month later, when they learned that they could be friends. More, actually. Those early weeks and months had seemed giddy and magical and strange, with mysterious snow globes and banoffee pies, late night talks and endless texting, between the kisses and the jokes.

Despite the strangeness, or perhaps because of it, they fell in love.

Just as Carmen was trying to remember exactly when it was that she fell in love with him, straining to recall the first time she said it, the door swung open and there he stood. She had about a millisecond to put down her things and get a look at Tom before he took her in his arms and hugged her tight.

Her eyes shut, Carmen snuggled into his chest and listened to him breathe. When she felt the gentle press of Tom’s lips against the top of her head, she reached up and brushed her fingers against his jaw.

“You have a beard.”

“Well, as much beard as I can manage, at the moment,” Tom admitted.

“Scruff.” She looked up at him. “And it’s sort of ginger. Imagine that.” Her lips curled into a sleepy grin.

“Carmen?” Tom peered into her eyes, then looked at her lips.

“Yes?” She wrapped her arms around him at the waist.

“Hello,” he whispered, then kissed her.

Tom slowly clasped his hands gently around the nape of her neck. While he didn’t deepen this kiss, he did hum softly against her lips. They sighed. His hands ran slowly down from her neck to her shoulder blades, pressing firmly as they traveled down her sides before coming to rest on her hips. He laughed gently when she broke the kiss, nipping at his jaw as she did so.

“Dude,” she muttered. “If you just got me sick, I swear to God…” She chuckled.

“Sorry,” replied Tom without a hint of apology in his voice. “You just looked so pretty, standing there.”

“Well, alright. And if I’m being truthful,” Carmen gazed up at him. “I never could resist your hair when it looks like that.”

Tom reddened slightly, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Looks like what?”

“All curly and topsy-turvy. A bit wild. You always did look good with a case of bedhead.”

Tom pouted.

“Well if you’re going to be like that, I’m not coming in…” Carmen began to squirm away, only stopping to giggle as Tom tickled her around the belly.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear: “Too late now, Brat.” He kissed her cheek. “Now get inside.”

Carmen had a moment, then another, right after Tom shut the door behind her. She took in the room around her. It was the same, couch and books, artwork all in their usual places. The snow globe was tucked away, high on a shelf, but not hidden. She didn’t dare wonder about the ring that she had taped inside it the day she left. Instead, she gave Tom her coat to hang up when he held out his hands for it, then walked to the kitchen with the things she brought for Tom.

When he started nosing around in the bags, Carmen shooed him away. “Tom, you’re sick! Go upstairs. Lie down. I’ll bring up some food in a minute.”

“Not by myself, I will.” Tom was petulant, challenging her when she looked at him.

“Tom, you can’t get better if you’re going to sit her in your drafty kitchen wearing nothing but your pyjamas!”

He winced, just a little. “Well, I’m wearing my robe at least.”

“That thing?” She reached for the lapels, which were thin and threadbare after years of frequent use. “I can’t believe you’ve had this since Cambridge.” Carmen smirked up at him. “It’s so old!”

“It’s vintage, thank you,” Tom sniffed.

Carmen caught sight of his long, pale feet, and gasped. “Thomas William, you’ll catch your death. You’re not even wearing socks! Where are your socks?!”

“Fine!”

Tom spun on his heel and left the room. When Carmen thought he had actually gone and put on socks, he returned instead with a blanket, the one that was usually folded neatly on the back of his couch. He wrapped it around himself, batting down a corner when it threatened to flip over his head.

“Better?”

She threw her hands up in resignation. “Fine, but stay out of the way. No hanging over me, please.”

Tom took a seat at the kitchen table, propping his head up on his fist after placing his elbow on the table. He watched her root around in the cupboards, removing a mug, a short drinking glass, and a chipped bowl, before plucking a spoon from a basket next to the sink. While water for tea began to heat up in the electric kettle, Carmen toasted some bread and gave it to him on a small blue plate.

He frowned up at her. “No butter?”

‘Nope. Dry toast and tea, perfect for invalids,” replied Carmen. She grabbed the tea and set it down in front of him.

“But I’m not an invalid,” retorted Tom from within his blanket cocoon.

“If you say so,” she said airily.

Turning her attention back to the counter, Carmen frowned before removing the drinking glass. The juice could wait until later, so she put that away in the refrigerator. She set the mug, the bowl, and the spoon in front of Tom. He eyed a tall plastic tub filled with a golden liquid that she placed between them when she joined him at the table, and made the tea.

“You got me chicken soup?”

She shook her head. “Plain chicken broth. Good for what ails you.”

“But I wanted soup.” He pushed his bottom lip out at her. “Proper soup. I can’t dunk my toast in this.”

“You get what you get, and you don’t get upset,” said Carmen. She fetched another tub, this one filled with a thick orange _potage_ , and set it in front of her.

“Wait, what are you having?” Tom looked at her resentfully.

She removed the lid. “Carrot. With like, two knobs worth of ginger grated in, and a ton of cream. Perfect for a rainy day like this.”

“I like carrot soup,” muttered Tom.

“I know, baby,” said Carmen sweetly. “And I look forward to sharing it with you once you are better.”

“You’re mean,” Tom muttered into his tea.

“I’m not trying to be mean.”

“Then why won’t you stay?” Tom froze, his question having come out louder and perhaps a bit more accusatory than he meant. He glanced up at her. “Sorry, that was…”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just…” She clasped her hands in front of her. “It feels weird to be back. Actually, it doesn’t feel weird to be back here, sitting in this kitchen. As if the summer hadn’t happened. Like I don’t have my own apartment all the way across town because we were broken up and I needed a new home.”

“Oh.” Tom looked genuinely sorrowful. “I’m sorry, it didn’t occur to me that you might… I just thought we were so eager, excited.”

“I know. I thought so, too.” She reached for him, her hand open, smiling when he rested his hand on top of it. “It’s okay. Honestly, I didn’t know I’d feel like this.”

“Alright.” Tom smiled weakly. “I’m still sorry, though.”

Carmen nodded. “I know. And I’ll be fine.” When Tom coughed again, she arched an eyebrow. “Okay, let’s get you upstairs.”

“Finally!” Tom wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“No, Tom. I’m serious about leaving you to rest.” Carmen got up and pulled him to his feet. “You’ll be fine once you sleep.”

He kept her left hand in his right, gently tugging her towards the stairs that led to the second floor. “If you stay, at least until I drop off, I won’t try anything. Promise.”

Carmen laughed when he crossed his heart. “So why don’t I believe you then?”

Tom looked at her slyly. “I’ll be a perfect angel.”

“No you won’t, but,” She squeezed his hand. “Lead the way.”


	2. The Patient

_I love you, and it’s getting worse.  
_ Joseph Morris

* * *

Tom really did have every intention of doing what she asked. But once she had kicked off her boots so she could get in with him — he under the covers and she over — he felt as though he’d won a minor victory. He told her as much.

“I feel as though I’ve won a minor victory, Button,” yawned Tom.

Carmen nudged him. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Who’s cocky?”

“You! You are!” She threw her hands up in the air. “You’re shameless, flirting and pleading to get what you want.”

“That’s not true!” Tom protested. “And even if it were, it clearly didn’t work! You didn’t even bring me real soup!”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “But here I am, in bed with you.”

“We were in bed together in Australia,” replied Tom. “Many times, in fact.”

“Yes, and that was very nice,” admitted Carmen. She couldn’t resist winking, which made Tom laugh. “Believe me when I say I look forward to our next… what’s the word I want? Encounter? No.” She shut her eyes. “Assignation.”

“Assignation?” Tom tutted. “How prosaic.”

Her eyes popped open. “Hush, you.”

Carmen looked out the window, and observed that the sky was no brighter than before. A  short, sharp wind rattled the pane. “The wind’s up. I think it’s gotten colder.”

“Well, if you get under the covers with me, you’ll find it’s quite warm in here.” Tom looked expectant.

“I thought you said you were going to sleep!”

Tom turned and lay on his side, sighing dramatically as he did. “And I will.”

“Good.”

“Once you’ve told me a story.”

“You said you would rest!”

“And I will, once storytime is over.”

“Asshole,” muttered Carmen.

Tom smiled up at her. “Yes, Button. That’s me.”

“Fine.” Carmen got down beside him, turning to face Tom but not getting under the covers. Tom fumbled for the blanket from the couch, gently tossing it over her. Snuggling into him, she grabbed his hands and held them.

“Are you feeling better?” She whispered.

Tom nodded. “Much.”

“Do you want some cold medicine?”

“No.”

“What would you like to hear?”

Tom’s eyes, which had been focused on their hands clasped together, flitted up to her face. “Tell me…” He stopped himself.

“What?”

“Car, before. Back in June.” He frowned. “Where did you go?”

“What do you mean? Where did I…?” Carmen inhaled sharply. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

“I don’t have any right to ask…”

“And I already told you, remember? When we were in Australia. The morning after, you know, we saw each other again. Had tea.” Carmen gave him a sort of a lopsided grin, which made his breath catch.

Tom nodded. “You told me that…” He paused. “You stayed with your professor, Lauren. She was in town for a conference. You had bought a ticket to Chicago, but remembered the Brexit vote in a few days.”

“Work was going to be insane the day of the vote. My manager already knew. I’d told him what had happened.”

“But you decided to stay. Cancel your ticket. Move into corporate housing. Just for a while.”

“Yeah. Even before the announcement. Some of our trainees from the EU were worried, had already left to go back to their home countries and wait for the vote.”

“Did any of them come back?”

“A few,” said Carmen. “Most were still in school, off for the summer, so they just stayed away.”

“Was it very difficult?’

“Yeah,” Carmen replied. “But I was grateful for the distraction. All the work I had to do. It’s probably why I got the promotion.”

“I’m very proud of you, you know.”

“You should, as you’re the reason why I threw myself into the work in the first place.” Carmen was about to smile again but faltered when she saw the sadness in Tom’s eyes. “Oh come on…”

He shook his head. “Carmen, I’m so sorry.”

“Hush,” she whispered, before throwing an arm around him at the neck and pulling him in. ‘It’s over now.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “It’s over.”

* * *

The wind picked up, blowing rain that drummed irregular, staccato beats against the windows and walls of the house. Tom slept through it, the grey afternoon light fading to dark around him. He wasn’t awake to see Carmen slip out of his bed, run into the bathroom for a quick pee. Shedding her jeans and sweater, she tossed them onto the floor. Her bra followed, and now she was back in bed.

Now under the covers, she wiggled her back against him until he shifted and she could pull his arm around her at the waist. Tom had been right — it was awfully warm under the covers, even more so now that they were curled up together. Wiggling her toes, she rubbed her feet, clad in wool socks, against his bare ones. It took only a few minutes of listening — to his deep breaths, the November rain, her own sighs — before Carmen fell asleep too.

_"In this grave hour, perhaps the most fateful in the fandom, I send to every Tumblr of my fans, both at home and overseas, this apology, made with the same depth of feeling for each one of you, as if I were able to DM your twitter and tweet you myself..."_

_Tom paces, stumbling at times, for he is on a pebbly beach on the American coast of the Atlantic Ocean. Somewhere in the distance, a group of young girls with lithe bodies screech and cavort for the well-paid photographers hired for the occasion. Behind him, Luke follows with a tablet, taking dictation as he recites._

_Luke pauses. “Erm, Tom…”_

_Tom whips around, tugging at the front of his white tank top. It is soaked with Coca-Cola, and is beginning to attract the interest of large insects that buzz around him._

_“What?” Tom frowns. “Are we being watched? Does she want us back yet?”_

_Luke looks over his shoulder. “Not yet. The bouncy castle isn’t fully inflated yet.”_

_Tom nods. “We shall continue.” He peers at Luke. “Where was I?”_

_Luke checks his display. “‘... as if I were able to DM your twitter and tweet you myself…’”_

_“Ah…” Tom pauses to run his fingers through his hair, stopping when he feels more skin than he would have liked. “Perhaps we’ll abandon this thread. Luke, new draft.”_

_Luke taps away, then nods._

_“2016 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure.”_

_Luke nods enthusiastically. “Better. ‘Undiluted’. I like it.”_

_Tom stops. “Just a tick. This vest is starting to smell.” He pulls off the tank, and when he does his condition and environment change._

_Now standing on stage at the Emmys, Tom is clean and dry, resplendent in a custom tuxedo from Gucci. He feels tall and handsome, powerful. On the verge of something big. The actress Priyanka Chopra preens next to him in a red dress, only noticing him long enough to fluff her bosom and smile, her plush red lips parting to reveal blindingly white teeth._

_Feeling the weight of an Emmy statuette in his hands, he turns to face the audience. The teleprompter scrolls, and with a small cough Tom reads._

_“In the words of one of my more sympathetic Hiddlestoners, it has turned out to be an_ annus horribilis _.”_

_Before he can go on, the audience bursts into applause, standing and cheering. Tom’s face is warm, he stammers and is appropriately self-deprecating. He holds up the trophy, and is startled when Priyanka takes it away from him. Before he can ask her, through gritted teeth, what in the hell she thinks she is doing, she nods._

_“Look,” she whispers. “She’s here.”_

_Tom turns again, and the audience is gone. The lights have gone out save for one, a spotlight that follows Carmen as she ascends the steps to the stage to meet him._

_“You like it?”_

_She looks down at her dress, a confection of embroidered tulle and rhinestones that is surprisingly modest despite the fact that it is semi-sheer. Its sleeves are long and lacy but the neck is cut low to reveal the tops of her soft breasts. Carmen’s black hair is held back from her face, falling in waves around her shoulders and down her back. Tom reaches out to touch her cheek, and when he does she covers his hand with hers._

_“I do.” Tom catches sight of the ring finger, bare but for a bright red scar that encircles it totally, like a ring. “Oh god, Button, what happened? Who did this?”_

_Her eyes fill with tears, and she pulls her hand away. Shaking her head, she backs away and begins to sob. “You did, Tom. Remember? It was you.”_

Tom was up first.

His mouth was dry, but his head didn’t hurt like before. After fumbling for a tissue, he blew his nose. He felt better, at least until he saw Carmen lying next to him. Still asleep, she whimpered as tears ran down her cheeks. Shaking her head, she kept saying, begging, for someone to stay. Don’t leave her. Never let go.

“Baby?” Tom lay down, placing his arm across her. “Carmen?” He kissed her shoulder, bared to the cool air of the dark room. “Baby, wake up.”

She came to, inhaling air too quickly which made her cough. Tom helped her sit up, and she slumped over while he rubbed slow circles into her back with the flat of his hand. He stopped only to get pour her a glass of water out of the carafe that sat on the nightstand. Holding it up to her lips, he helped her drink.

“Slowly,” he whispered. “There.” Tom replaced the glass, then sat back so she could curl up against his chest. When she looked up at him, Tom kissed her lips and sighed.

“I’m so cold,” she said. Carmen squinted at the window in the dark. “Is the heat on yet?”

Tom shook his head. “It isn’t, but the thermostat — it will be on soon.”

“Not soon enough,” she said forlornly.

“Button, I’ll turn it on. I will.”

Before Tom could get up, Carmen shook her head. She scooted down, lying back and waiting for Tom to join her. When he did, she pulled the duvet over their heads and began to kiss him.

“Button, I’m still sick. Remember?”

“I don’t care,” she muttered into his neck. Carmen moved his hands to her waist, placing them on the hem of her shirt. Tom slipped his hand underneath, running his hands across her belly, then over her breasts as they were bared. Once the shirt was off, her knickers followed, then his own pyjamas.

“Ow!”

“Sorry… oof.”

“Oh no!”

“It’s okay.”

It wasn’t lost on either of them, the meaning of this moment. It had been his bed, then theirs, and then his again. For the entire summer, no one had slept in it. Not after Carmen moved out, and certainly not when Tom was away for so long. A long, lonely season of sleeping in impossibly silky linens in the nicest hotel suites was, if not erased then certainly muted, pushed into memory, as soon as they dove under the covers.

“Yer feet are still cold.”

On their sides, facing each other, Carmen chuckled when Tom eased one of his legs between hers. She sighed when he slipped an arm down her back, firmly grasped her hip, and pulled her into him.

“Not everything is cold. See?” Tom blew in her ear, then began to nibble on the lobe.

“Big deal, Tom. Hot breath from…” She kissed his shoulder. “A hot head.”

“Excuse me?” Tom lay back, pulling Carmen on top as he did. He kissed her, making a small hum of pleasure and surprise when she sucked on his bottom lip.

“Hot head,” she repeated before kissing him again. When she licked, just inside his mouth, Tom pulled away his head.

“I thought I was too sick to take to bed.” He smirked.

“I’ve had my flu shots, Cambridge. And besides.” Carmen nuzzled his cheek. “I know we’ve got soup downstairs, cold medicine. Orange juice in the fridge…” She trailed off.

When Carmen rolled her hips, she laughed in delight when she felt his cock, hard and insistent, pressing against her. Going up on her knees, straddling him at the waist, she reached down. Taking him in hand, she carefully aligned the head to her sex.

“Oh… Carmen. You’re so wet.” Tom moaned. _“Fuck.”_

She kissed him again, trailing her lips along his jaw to his ear. “You remember, don’t you?”

“What?” Tom’s eyes, which had been shot, flew open. He turned to look at her, and saw her dilated pupils, her flushed cheeks.

“How we do it, baby,” Carmen rolled her hips, easing downward just as Tom rocked his hips. She whined a little as he entered her, prolonging the delicious feeling of fullness.

“How to…” She kissed his temple. “How to take my temperature.”

Tom was enjoying this moment. Not just having Carmen in his bed, lying on top of him, their bodies entwined. It wasn’t just being inside her, where it was warm and wet and good and right, her tensing occasionally around him. If she kept doing that, he wouldn’t last much longer.

At some point, Tom would have to move again. Clench his buttocks and thrust upward. Hold her hips steady, then pull her down as he went up. He could kiss her, and he did. Stealing a kiss, then another, before she pushed up and braced herself, planting her hands on the wall.

“Oh god, Tom.”

Carmen’s head dropped forward, her eyelids fluttering so the sight of pleasure, of ecstasy, upon his face, came in flashes and beats. Tom’s wide eyes open and bright, his firm lips closing around the hard nipple of her right breast. Flicking his tongue over the bud while below one of his hands searched for her clit.

It was awkward. It was work. But the ache in her back as Carmen arched. The twinge in his thighs as Tom pushed up and into her, harder faster, over and over again. These sensations, this coupling, were just as familiar (if not as mundane) as bickering in the kitchen over tea or reshelving books.

They fell into place, Tom and Carmen did. Back at home, back in bed. Every kiss she pressed to his lips sparked connection. Every swipe of his thumb on her clit started a fire. The heat, the feeling, was almost too much, but neither of them could stand to pull away. This was too important, returning to each other. Finding rhythm.

Until Carmen started laughing. She did so with her whole body, hips bucking while Tom sought to steady her.

“Button, please… are you close?” Tom held her tight, Carmen now snuggled into his chest.

“No, but… oh!” She sobbed. “Shit! Oh god, Tom. Faster. Yes. Oh…”

He kept his hand there, caught between their bodies, fingers cramping as they circled her clit. Bucking and rolling, Tom felt possessed as he pumped harder and faster.

“Button, I’m going to… fuck!” His release came, wracking his body and a beat after Carmen’s own orgasm arrived. She tightened around him, holding on even as she gasped for breath. But they didn’t fight it, just letting the tension and its subsequent release bind them.

“Ugh!”

Carmen grunted as Tom, in the weakening throes of climax, snapped his hips into her. He craned his head, turning her face up to him with his hands so he could kiss her. Inhale her, taste her as though he were starving.

“Tom, please…” She whispered.

“No.” Tom’s voice was low and gruff. “More.”

She gave in, happily, for she had missed this greediness of his. Insistent on kissing her sweet mouth, running his fingers through her hair so he could gently tug on the ends. He briefly permitted her to slip her arms around him, grunting with satisfaction when every squeeze of his was answered with a slight digging of her nails into his lower back.

The weight of Carmen’s body on his was pleasant. His bed was soft, but she was softer. Warmer. Lovelier.

Tom felt anchored but not weighted down. Centered. Secure. That feeling of being cherished and trusted.

This is what he knew. This is what he remembered. This is what he felt. This is what he loved.


End file.
